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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29744328">How to Accidentally Fake Your Own Death</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/n0luv/pseuds/n0luv'>n0luv</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental Death, Alternate Universe, Apocalypse, Death, Do I Know Where This Is Going?, Extra-Ordinary: My Life as Number Seven, Faked Death, Gen, Humor, Mourning, Time Travel, based off of a prompt, except he isnt dead haha, no beta we die like ben</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:47:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,109</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29744328</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/n0luv/pseuds/n0luv</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>”Ben’s death was sudden.</p><p>  Despite the fact we were a little more than startled that someone had burned down the manor, the news of his inability to have survived shocked us into further reservation.</p><p>   Ben’s death took a toll on us all, and any previous familial ties that we were harbouring had disappeared that night. Five’s disappearance reflects this, and can be said that his decision to run away was something that all of us envied.”</p><p>-</p><p>When the Hargreeves mansion catches on fire and Ben goes uncounted in the number of survivors, he realizes he’s faked his own death. By accident. </p><p>He runs, and never looks back.</p><p> Until now.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Number Six | Ben Hargreeves &amp; The Hargreeves | Umbrella Academy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. all my troubles on a burning pile</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Ben is last to get out.</p><p>He was exhausted after a long day of training, and was out like a light the moment he entered his room. He was determined to sleep for as long as his father would let him, and his siblings overnight fights wouldn’t stop him.</p><p>It was normal. Yelling between Diego and Luther below him could be heard, probably about today’s training session (Diego and Luther got into a bit of a petty scrap fight — and their father didn’t bother interfering) and Allison was trying to get them to stop.</p><p>At some point, Ben was pretty sure she’d rumored them. It wasn’t unlike her to do so. </p><p>Other than the usual fights on the second floor, it was silent on the third. Having Five as a room neighbor was either the best or worst thing. Five’s nights consisted on either silence bordering on insanity, or manic, frenzied, pacing. Ben could live with it. </p><p>Later, however, when Ben thought everyone would be asleep, more shouting ensued. Ben rolls over, groaning and pressing his pillow to his head. He considered getting up and stomping on the floor, quite uncharacteristically of him, but he was tired. More tired than he’d ever been. His stomach ached like he’d eaten something particularly nasty, and all this noise wasn’t helping. </p><p>Though, Ben senses something is wrong when he hears his fathers voice. It is loud and booming, but in Ben’s half asleep state of mind, he cannot read within the lines of what he’s saying. It’s blurred and out of sense. </p><p>His fathers voice goes on for the next few moments, before he can vaguely make out Luther’s “Yes, sir.” Then it is silence. Ben yawns, relaxing into the soft touch of his mattress once more. </p><p>But it’s too quiet. Like the whole house had been replaced with singular Five’s. Ben shudders at the thought of this, shaking his head. </p><p>Ben is last to get out.</p><p>The only reason he <em>does</em> get out is because of the smoke. And Five’s fire escape. Considering the fact the third floor is so high up, it wasn’t a surprise that the smoke took so long to reach him.</p><p>He props himself up on his bed with his elbows, smelling it and shaking his head. He’d always been sensitive to smells, and well, this one wasn’t a nice one. Extremely strong.</p><p>For the first time since he’d gone to bed, Ben opens his eyes. And sees, well, hellfire. </p><p>His door, funnily enough, stood standing completely fine. His walls, however, could not say the same. Holes were blazed through, and one long wood pane had impaled another. </p><p>Alarmed, and still tired, Ben gets up. He nearly trips over his long pajama bottoms, and opens the door. The scene is like out of a movie: Five’s room was wrecked, whilst a raging fire creeped up the green stairs. </p><p>Despite the massive destruction going on around Five’s room, it isn’t so bad that Ben can’t use the only thing he should be using in this situation. The fire escape. </p><p>The floor creaks underneath him, on the way to Five’s room. The journey is short, just across from his own, but also so very long. Ben tries to avoid the falling rubble of the roof behind him, desperately ignoring the fire that continued to grow and lick up the stairs. </p><p>He finally makes it, wrapping his sleeve against his fingers and bracing himself for the heat of the door knob. It sends an ache up and down his arm, stinging his fingers. </p><p>Five’s room isn’t completely obliterated, and Ben can hear the crackle of the fire outside, growing and spreading faster with each moment.</p><p>Smashing open his brothers window with a baseball that lay innocently on Five’s bedside table (Ben didn’t know his brother <em>liked</em> baseba — oh. Trajectory theory) Ben brushed off some haphazard pieces of glass aside, stepping out onto the creaking metal staircase. </p><p>A breeze of wind tickles his legs, setting off an array of goosebumps. Ben breathes in and out, carefully treading each stair step down, nearly slipping. </p><p>He makes it to the end, jumping off with a small push. He shakes himself, still reeling. Beside him, the Hargreeves mansion begins to disappear into nothing more but a memory. An awful memory. </p><p>Ben reminds himself that his family has, probably, all gathered in the courtyard behind their house.</p><p>He walks, slowly and fatigued, back round down the alley, careful to keep himself steady.</p><p>It’s night, and the dark seems to cover everything in the world like an overcast blanket. Ben hasn’t been out much, in the dark. </p><p>Firefighters surround Ben’s family, questioning them. The flashing lights of the firetrucks makes Ben wince, and he steps back in reflex. </p><p>Their father is on the edge of the scene, alone. He looks disappointed. On edge. </p><p>His siblings are.. crying. Klaus is shock still, standing beside Allison. They intertwine hands. Luther and Diego are arguing, nearly about to be set off and start strangling eachother. Five talks angrily with the poor firefighter in front of them, hands waving in the air. Vanya holds a case in her hands, presumably her violin, and she is devoid of emotion. </p><p>Ben doesn’t know what would set this off. Grace, and Pogo, are both absent. Diego and Vanya were especially close with the two, but the others.. Ben couldn’t make it out. </p><p>He catches a stray piece of conversation between the firefighter and Five. </p><p>“He can’t be dead! Ben —“ Five chokes up uncharacteristically, gripping the sleeves of his blue and white striped pajamas tighter with each word, “Ben is stronger then that!” He protests, shoving a finger up to the firefighters chest.</p><p>Ben’s blood goes cold.</p><p>“Kid, I’m sorry, but we couldn’t find him. You said you and he shared the third floor, right?” The firefighter asks. Five nods sharply. “It’s wrecked to pieces. The roof caved in.” </p><p>Ben steps back, crunching a few leaves under his feet. He can feel his nerves running; they’re pumped full of adrenaline, fear, shock. </p><p>He was dead. But he stood right there, fine. Ben pinches himself, yelping lightly, and trying to make sure he was real, make sure he was really here and okay and not a ghost. </p><p>He realizes, weakly, that he’d faked his own death.</p><p>It knocks him into a frenzied stupor, because he was dead and alive, he was free from his father’s iron tight grasp — and he’d left his siblings there with him. </p><p>Ben’s stomach makes flip flops and goes from hot to cold to nearly gone in seconds, before he makes his choice.</p><p>He steps away, turning around. He runs down the manor alleyway. Ben doesn’t look back.</p><p> </p><p>𖥔</p><p> </p><p>”<em>Ben’s death was sudden. </em></p><p>
  <em>      Despite the fact we were a little more than startled that someone had burned down the manor, the news of his inability to have survived shocked us into further reservation. </em>
</p><p><em>     Ben’s death took a toll on us all, and any previous familial ties that we were harbouring had disappeared that night. </em> <em>Five’s disappearance reflects this, and can be said that his decision to run away was something that all of us envied.”</em></p><p><em>—</em> Excerpt from ‘Extra-ordinary: My Life as Number Seven’ Chapter Six— My Forever Young Brother, Ben.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>short chapter. just wanted to get it out before ao3 busted my ass and deleted the whole thing. wont be updating often.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. is this the place that i’ve been dreaming of?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>short chapter. i wouldn’t expect anything long.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>Ben did not think this out. </p><p>He gets the cops called on him, first. He’s a twelve year old roaming the streets with scorched pajama pants — what else is there to witness before calling the police? </p><p>Despite the alarming fact that he was in a police car, they were gentle with him. Perhaps it was his age. Or that he was barefoot with pajamas on. Either way, they didn’t really do.. much. In the car, anyways.</p><p>In the police station was different. Ben had never been in a police station, actually. It was <em>weird</em>.</p><p>A few shady individuals inside the cells made Ben’s the hair on his neck stand up. One particular handcuffed man caught his eye, however. He had curled hair, and wore a distasteful fur coat. He was fidgety, and seemed to be talking to something that wasn’t there. Ben shivers.</p><p>Someone behind hims smacks him upside the head, and a woman with coiled brown and blonde hair pulls him away from the front of the cell. </p><p>Another policeman directs Ben to a room, pulling out the chair at the table and directing him to sit. Ben complies, hesitantly edging away from him as he sat on the other side of the room. </p><p>The man seems to think for a moment before speaking, “What’s your name, kid?” He says at last. Ben bites him tongue, wincing at the word kid. He’d forgotten that, as of late. His father made no effort to remind him, and didn’t treat him nor his siblings as such, either.</p><p>”Ben.” He says. He’d thought about making a name up, but it wouldn’t feel right. Mom gave this name to him. </p><p>“Last name?” The policeman says. </p><p>Ben freezes, keeping his mouth shut. He didn’t <em>know </em>any last names. And he sure as hell wouldn’t say his real one. </p><p>“Kid?” The man pries. Ben doesn’t respond, looking away from him. There’s tapping on the mirror behind him, and Ben knows it isn’t a mirror. According to the movies, that is.</p><p>The man backs off, stepping out into the next room. He doesn’t come back out. Instead, a woman appears from the otherside. She doesn’t look like a policewoman.. but Ben isn’t stupid. </p><p>“Ben, right?” She asks. Ben nods, looking up at her. She flashes a warm smile. It reminds Ben of his mother. And maybe Vanya, on her good days.</p><p>”We know that you don’t want to tell us your last name, and,” She pauses, struggling to keep a positive face, “That’s okay.” She nods, sitting down across from him, “We’d just like to ask a few questions.” </p><p>Ben tries not to look skeptical, but nods anyways. “You have a mother and a father, yes?” She asks. Ben murmurs a quiet yes, tilting his head slightly. His mother was indeed, his mother. But she wasn’t what you would exactly call a ‘traditional’ mother. </p><p>“Any siblings?” Ben bites his lip. He did, of course, have siblings. Many. And he left them.</p><p>Ben breathes in, before shaking his head. His head spins. He’d just lied. To law enforcement. Was this under oath? When were things under oath? </p><p>“How about aunts? Uncles? Grandparents?” She asks once more.</p><p>Ben shrugs. He didn’t know much about his father, and he’s pretty sure his mother didn’t have any other family members.</p><p>The woman bites her lip, leaning back. “Tell me about your parents.” </p><p>Ben winces, and tries not to let it show. “Which one?” He says, firstly. She doesn’t respond, thinking, “Your mother, if you would.” </p><p>He nods, thinking. “She’s nice. Er, she has lots of hobbies.” The woman nods, writing. “What kind of hobbies?” </p><p>“The usual mom hobbies. Knitting, sowing, cooking, cleaning, baking. She likes looking at paintings.” She raises a brow, “Paintings?” </p><p>Ben nods. “She likes this painting in.. er, our house. A lot.” He says, shrugging. The woman keeps her gaze on him, before speaking, “What’s she like?” </p><p>“Um, she’s my mom. She loves me, I guess.” Ben says offhandedly. She was a robot. Ben knew that. Her behavior was all ones and zeros. </p><p>“How about your father?” </p><p>Ben doesn’t say anything. His father was.. a complex man. Reginald Hargreeves was not a loving, nor doting, father. Really, he wasn’t a father at all. But he did take them in. He did clothe them, feed them, train them. But Ben didn’t know what that meant.</p><p>After a beat of silence, Ben shrugs lightly. “He’s my dad. He likes, er, science. And books. He likes languages like Greek, and latin.” </p><p>“Ben, I,” She says suddenly, “I need you to be honest with me, here.” Ben raises a brow, before nodding slowly. “Do you like your parents?”</p><p>Ben feels like a bucket of water has been dunked on him. He doesn’t exactly like his father. His mother is.. he likes her, but he’s so aware of the fact she is just a robot, that it isnt.. <em>real</em>. </p><p>He doesn’t respond. “Is that why you ran away?” She pries. Ben blinks, looking up at her. His words are caught in his throat. He ran away. Of course he did. </p><p>After a long moment of silent that seemed like it stretched decades, she got up, pen and notepad in hand, exiting the door. Ben sits, in the silence. </p><p> </p><p>𖥔</p><p> </p><p>”<em>The death of Number Six heavily affects the children. </em></p><p>
  <em>       Despite my warnings to Sir Reginald, he refuses to halt in his agenda. I’m afraid the children might lash out, and Five’s sudden interest in time travel seems to want to prove me right. An increased aggression throughout each and every one of them is clearly evident, and even One is hesitant to stay obedient under his fathers orders.”</em>
</p><p>— Pogo’s diary, February 27th, 2001, three days after Ben’s death.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. teary-eyed i said "oh, i’m scared to death"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>omg first chapter with more than one scene wow im making progress</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>The next thing Ben knows, is that they’re directing him to the cell. You know, the <em>cell</em>. With the shady people.</p><p>He gives the two workers a weird look, and they send apologetic, pitiful ones back. Ben shrugs, sighing, and sitting on the bench furthest from the people there. </p><p>There are a total of six of them. Four men and two women. Ben can tell they’re waiting for someone, the blond and brown haired one repeatedly looking out the bars and patting the short mousy woman on the shoulder melancholically. </p><p>Then, the largest man he’s ever seen, is sitting down beside him. Not all up close, no, that’d be weird. Just on the other side. The seat tilts, due to his weight. Ben raises a cautious brow. </p><p>Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Ben traces the lines across his pant leg. He didn’t know how much longer he could do this. Perhaps he should go back. Maybe he was.. wrong. For doing this. </p><p>He groans, placing his arms across his stomach. Biting his tongue so hard he’s sure he tasted blood, Ben remembers what’s under his shirt. The situation he’d been in let him temporarily forget. </p><p>Wiping a dribble of red from his lips, Ben leans back on the wall, mind reeling. </p><p>“Er,” The man beside him starts, “Tough night?” He says. Ben turns to see him, and feels a vague sense of familiarity. Maybe its because he’s got blonde hair and blue eyes. You’re projecting, Ben thinks. </p><p>“I guess.” Ben shrugs, removing his limbs from his abdomen. “I don’t really know why I’m here.” He adds on.</p><p>The man looks at him nervously, like something was happening that shouldn’t be. “I mean,” He chuckled awkwardly, “Everything happens for - for a reason, right?” He gulps, scratching his cheek.</p><p>Ben doesn’t respond, instead sighing, for the millionth time that night. “Everything happens for a reason.” He mumbles. </p><p>A clinking at the door catches Ben’s attention. “Ben?” The woman from earlier says, waving sheepishly to him. The talking in the cell diminishes completely, and Ben tries not to let the silence get to him, getting up and walking sluggishly over to her. </p><p>She places a gentle hand on his shoulder, directing him down the hall. Behind him, Ben can hear a hooray from back in the cell. “Mute yourself, you idiot.” A voice says. </p><p>It’s a voice Ben <em>knows</em>. He stops abruptly, slightly thrashing under the womans hand, desperately trying to turn, because he knew that irritated tone, he knew those insults, he kn—“Ben?” She says. </p><p>Ben stops. He heaves. Tears spring up in his eyes and everything happens at once. He hadn’t quite processed what he’d done, after all. “Yes?” He says, trying not to let his voice waver or crack. </p><p>“This way,” She all but whispers, turning his body to the left. Ben nods sharply, taking rigid steps.</p><p>He knows that voice. He <em>knew</em>, that voice. </p><p>At the end of the hall is a another room, unlocked and empty except for a grey table and three little plastic chairs. The woman directs him forwards, and Ben obliges, hesitantly. </p><p>Sitting down, two people emerge from the door at the end of the room. It’s two women. “Ben, right?” The one on the left says. She’s wearing a big dress. It reminds Ben of his mother. </p><p>“Uh huh.” Ben says, quietly, drumming his fingers against the side of the chair, eyes darting back and forth between places that were <em>not</em> their eyes. The second woman sits down, slamming a binder down on the table.</p><p>”You’re getting put into the system.” She says, bluntly. </p><p>Ben’s eyes trail straight into hers. He blinks. “The system?” He asks. Ben didn’t know what the ‘system’ meant. Hell, he didn’t know a lot of these things. </p><p>“She means an orphanage, honey.” The first one days. Ben recoils at her words. Words like those were reserved for mom. But, Ben reminds himself, he doesn’t exactly have a mother, now, does he?</p><p>The second one coughs into her arm, ”You’ve got no records, no birthdate—“ </p><p>“October 1st, 1989.” Ben interrupts.</p><p>”Excuse me?” </p><p>Ben gulps. “My birthday, - it’s on October 1st, 1989.” </p><p>She raises a brow. “Same as those Umbrella kids.” She rolls her eyes, going back to her papers. Ben nearly topples over.</p><p>“Anyways.” She says, “We’ll need to take you to get your documents, finger prints, birth certificate, yadda yadda.” </p><p>Ben scrunches his eyebrows together, before nodding. He didn’t know how he didn’t consider the fact he hadn’t even been announced a citizen. Nor even announced being born. </p><p>The two ladies drag him to their car, and whilst doing so, Ben deflates at the fact that the people in the cell have disappeared. Ben shakes himself. They were strangers. There were also a hell of a lot of people who were as snappy as Five. </p><p>The car bumps up and down on the road, and Ben knows - theres no going back.</p><p>Later, Ben sits, as the second woman, Alma, Ben finds out, pricks his finger. ”Ow.” Ben yelps, automatically bringing his finger to his mouth, sucking.</p><p>“Don’t do that.” Alma says, slapping his hand.</p><p>They’d been pricking his finger to find out his bloodtype, take it into the system. Behind them, the first woman, Donna, is writing down Ben’s birthday on a slip of paper. </p><p>“Here.” Alma says, sliding over a black ink pad. “Dip your fingers into it, then press here.” She says, grabbing another file and handing it to him. Ben obliges, watching his finger prints splatter onto the page.</p><p>”You’re done, sweetheart.” Donna says, gathering the rest of the papers and handing them to Alma. “Welcome to the government system, kid.” Alma says, with an edge to her voice.</p><p>Ben bites the side of his cheek, “The government system.” He repeats. </p><p> </p><p>𖥔</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>”You can see the dead, yes?” I ask. </em>
</p><p><em>KH: “I mean, considering I </em>am <em>dear old daddy’s Number Four, then yes.” Patient says, preoccupied with the edges of his shirt. </em></p><p>
  <em>I proceed to ask a question that seems to be of guilty conscience of the patient, ”You had a brother, Ben, am I correct?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>KH: “..You are.” Patient drops his sweater and posture becomes increasingly tensed. Sore spot. Similar to that of when trying to talk about his other brother’s disappearance. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>”And you are unable to see him? Even when sober? Why is that?” I say. Albeit calm the whole session, the patient gets up, agitated. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>KH: “How the hell am I supposed to know? If he died, and decided to skip onto the afterlife, I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t fucking blame him if he’d stayed in the manor on purpose.“ Patient proceeds to swipe papers off the table, leaving the room.</em>
</p><p>— Klaus’s rehab therapist records, 2014.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>in case anyones wondering: ben does actually have records and stuff - reginald just has them hidden away.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. tell me why your hands are cold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>kind of a filler chapter. some stuff here is important tho</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>Ben decides, that he’s unsure whether or not life inside the system is all that better than life in the Academy. </p><p>”Wake up!” Ben hears from behind him. He kept still, clutching his pillows tight against his chest, biting the edge so hard he could rip it off. </p><p>Apparently, it didn’t take too kindly to his new environment. And the fact that they would be spending a <em>lot</em> less time out. </p><p>Something hard hits the back of his head, and Ben rolls over, nearly toppling off the edge of the small bed. </p><p>“Yes, maman.” Ben says in auto response, getting up and fixing his bed. He can hear her ‘tch’ and walk off to wake the others.</p><p>Maman wasn’t his actual mother, nor was she his adoptive mother. She was the orphanage’s head caretaker. </p><p>Things at the Mercy Orphanage Home for Despaired Children — as it read on the front sign — were strict and stern. Nothing was to be out of order, and Maman’s words were law.</p><p>It was.. similar. To the Academy. Ben pulled his clothes out of the closet, changing into them. </p><p>Maman had the same authoritative figure persona as Reginald Hargreeves had, but atleast she didn’t know about his powers.</p><p>That was the hard part. </p><p>Ben had to refuse sharing a room with the other children (which, guiltily, required some trouble making) and had to make excuses as to why his stomach was so frequently irritated. </p><p>“I’m tired.” Ben said, alongside a few other lies like “I’m lactose intolerant.” or “I’m easily ill.”</p><p>Other than his birth certificate, fingerprints, citizenship and yet to be filled out adoption papers, Ben was a blank slate. </p><p>He could carve out an entirely different personality for himself. He could be an utter disgrace, live out life like no other, he could be <em>anything</em>. But Ben doesn’t want that. Ben wants to be.. Ben.</p><p>The children, expectedly, think he’s weird. Ben is quiet, and doesn’t enjoy staying outside like the rest of the children.</p><p>Maman notices this, but she will not, and does not, care. She’s been through hundreds and hundred of children. Many exactly like Ben. </p><p>The stairs creak under Ben’s steps. He can hear the other children bustling about, playing, running, fighting. Maman and three other voices are heard in the kitchen. </p><p>Recently, Maman had to fire soeu—er, Astania. Astania was another helper in the orphanage, and everyone liked her. She was sweet, and smelled like oranges. </p><p>“Ben!” Ben hears to his right. “Yes, maman?” He says, looking through the bowl of fruit sitting innocently on their long table.</p><p>Hand hovering above an orange, Ben grimaces, instead reaching for the apple. </p><p>“Come here.” She says. Obliging, Ben steps over to where she and the three voices from before were. </p><p>Two women and a man stood, wearing the Mercy’s helpers uniform.</p><p>The first, standing in front of maman, was a tall woman, with carefully tied up curly double toned hair. The second one, in front of him, was significantly shorter, shortest of the three. Her thin brown hair was let out, laying flat. The third was the man, short cut black hair and an intimidating scar running down the side of his face. </p><p>“This is soeur Adine,” Maman said, pointing to the first woman, “Soeur Vianye,” Finger directed at the second, “And frére Dante.” Pointing to the last man. </p><p>Ben turned to maman, “Because of soe—Astania?” Ben said, quickly correcting himself. Maman forbid them to call her soeur Astania for much longer after she was fired. </p><p>Maman nodded sharply. “Show them around.” She said with a nod, going back to the kitchen counter. </p><p>“Come with me.” Ben said, turning to the three adults behind him and beckoning them over with a limp hand.</p><p>Ben circled round through the first floor, yard, second floor, and the attic. </p><p>Leading the three of them upstairs, he showed each room, “Everyone shares rooms — er,  except for me.” Ben says sheepishly. </p><p>“Your hallway is in the same as mamans, down here.” Ben stops to watch their expressions. Especially after Astania, Ben’s been a little over the edge. </p><p>Adine is nodding absently, every so often looking around down the hall. Vianye looks directly at him, listening intently. And Dante, well. He looked like he was doing as much as he could.</p><p>Patting down his shorts that were covered in dust, Ben spoke once more, “Well. Mercy’s welcomes you.” </p><p>The three of them rose a brow, looking at eachother. </p><p> </p><p>𖥔</p><p> </p><p>“<em>I named my plant Ben. It’s silly, I know. But it’s nice to have something of him up here. Did you know he considered astrology as a career? I like to think he’d appreciate having himself on the moon, even if not really. </em></p><p>
  <em>Anyways, Dad, do you think you could send more supplies? I’m afraid I might not be able to last until next month.” </em>
</p><p><em>— </em>One of Luther’s letter’s to his father from the moon, dating 24/2/17.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>no, i do not know why i made maman french :p</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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